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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30043695">Guilt.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/velaijn/pseuds/velaijn'>velaijn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Friday's Rhymes [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Friday Night Funkin' (Video Game), Pico's School (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Injury, Unresolved Tension</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:41:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>678</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30043695</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/velaijn/pseuds/velaijn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A 'break up' that occurs after "Spin-Offs and Youth", the fifth work in the series.<br/>While waiting for Lynn in the waiting room, he spots a familiar face.<br/>The face he once loved is now tracked with sleepless nights.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Past Boyfriend (Friday Night Funkin')/Pico (Pico's School)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Friday's Rhymes [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2117799</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Guilt.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippykat/gifts">pippykat</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>pippy, this is for you *backstage passes*</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Pico.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Keith’s knees felt weak, wracked with all sorts of requisites and predictions on himself. he dug his shoulder deeper in the wall, leaning against it for balance.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Whittling, whittling.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The soft rhythm of the knife carving into wood was nothing more than calming and nerve wracking at the same time.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Pico, please. We... we can <em>talk</em> about this.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The rhythm grows, becoming almost as frequent and as loud as his wildly racing heart.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His heartbeat thrummed in his ears, singing benedictions and prayers with no words.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Pico’s fingers glided over the surface of the wood, the callouses leaving various pieces of the artist’s legacy.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ever so slightly, the hand holding the blade twitched, quivered.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The following carves are controlled, held back. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Heavier pieces of wood fell; they’re nothing short of terrifying. Keith’s eyes tracked the way Pico’s fingers seemed to quiver as the blade runs through the cracks of the wood, pieces and shavings faling into neat heaps, twirling through the air as they did so. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The wood shavings stopped raining on the tiled floor, their soft rhythm discontinued to no effect. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That is a small victory – an ear is being bent his way.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His fingers grasp into the edges leading into his pockets. His clothes are baggy, their fabric leaning down into the earth. Suddenly, it felt so tightly wrapped around him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Everything felt tense and tight, like a single word could just break Pico.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Keith jumps.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Look.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His tone is one of shaky disposition; unstable, unsure.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">““Pico, you already knew- I... I just say things out of <em>impulse</em>! I don’t think before I say anything, dude. You... you already knew that! You already knew I didn’t mean it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘...right?’ is the ending of that sentence, but when the rhythm of the carving resumes roughly and almost violently, Keith stops himself from continuing.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I really didn’t mean what I said about... about you. about me, about us – about what we are, what we were.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Still no response.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I... I only called you an accessory because I didn’t know how to deal with it.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The strokes grow more tense, sharp.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I...I know what you’re thinking. That isn’t a valid excuse, is it? I wanted to talk to you about it. I... I really did, Pico. But I saw you snap. I... I watched you snap. I...I don’t want to live in danger because of you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The tightness of Keith’s words stop the other from carving further.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Red stained the surface of the wood, very slightly faded and most certainly fresh.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">No reaction.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you... think I’m a monster, Keithy?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That nickname.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That nickname triggered memories Keith fought over and over again whilst seeing Lillian.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That nickname.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A monster...? No, no no <em>no</em>, dude. You’re not a monster in my eyes.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Then why are you scared of me?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Red.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All Keith could see on Pico was red flowing down his hands.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“....”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I...I’m sorry. I can’t <em>do</em> this anymore, Pico.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What? You can’t handle me trying to be someone else other than an <strong>accessory</strong>?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The last word spat venom, poison seeping into Keith’s soul.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Or what about what you said about us? About you? Lillian? Darnell, Nene? What about them? Are you going to make a half-assed apology too?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Red dripped on to the floor.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I... please, Pico. I... I’m <em>sorry</em>. I really didn’t mean to say anything I said on that day. I didn’t mean them, and I never will.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Keith.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Pico’s red-stained hand raises, but doesn’t reach for him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You could’ve just talked to me about this. You didn’t have to make me feel like a fucking burden <strong>more</strong> than I already am!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Pico, you’re <em>not</em> a burden!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Then why didn’t you fucking tell me you had a <em>problem</em> with me?!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">....</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“B..Because I was scared!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Scared of what?! ME, Keithy? <em><strong>ME</strong></em>?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Terror seeps into the deepest recesses of Keith’s mind.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The next thing Keith knows is that he falls to the ground, and the last thing he hears is a string of words.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry I wasn’t the best.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A loud shot rings.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>is this another vent? yes.<br/>of course it is<br/>now have some angst ^^;<br/>this is also the last work in the series.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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